


The Usual

by lesverymiserables



Series: The Usual [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, classic enjolras ignoring grantaire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesverymiserables/pseuds/lesverymiserables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire loves Enjolras, Enjolras ignores Grantaire, Jehan picks up the pieces</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Exhaustion

**Author's Note:**

> to be clear, I ship Jehan/Courf so don't expect anything serious between R and him  
> if anyone has any better title suggestions I would love to hear them, this is a terrible title

Empty.

One word could describe so many aspects of Grantaire's life.

His empty bottle

empty paints

empty stomach

empty heart

 

When Grantaire was with Enjolras, he felt fulfilled. Maybe he didn't have a purpose in life, but being in the same area as someone so incredibly focused made him forget that. Or, better yet, it made him realize that his purpose was Enjolras.

_You don't believe in anything._

_I believe in you._

Enjolras was a fantastic performer, he could fill your heart with one hopeful glance. Grantaire thinks that people would be fine with just watching Enjolras stand for an hour a night. He didn't need to give a speech because his intense presence alone was enough to inspire them.

_Do something!_

It was obvious that Enjolras was a “smooth talker.” He could calm a room of angry people, comfort a room of lonely and unite a room of the isolated in less than ten minutes. What a lot of people didn't see, was how quickly his words could go from uplifting to cutting. His tongue was sharp and his words were weapons. And, more often than not, these daggers were directed at Grantaire. Enjolras hated Grantaire. He hated his drinking, his cynicism and his insistence to attend meetings he had no apparent desire to be at. Other than his depressing and distracting presence, Grantaire had nothing to add to the group. Enjolras had often been interrupted during a passionate speech by a sarcastic comment from Grantaire. Grantaire almost enjoyed it when Enjolras directed his fury at Grantaire. The rest of Les Amis took it to be terrifying, but Grantaire was hardened by it. The man he loved hated him, almost as much as Grantaire hated himself.

_You're worthless._

Grantaire could stand when Enjolras yelled at him. At least it meant he knew the other existed. What was worse, far, far worse, was when Enjolras ignored him completely. It would start when a sarcastic comment didn't earn him a glare. And it would escalate until Grantaire was throwing a bottle, after having downed several, and screaming. Enjolras' calm voice would say, “You don't believe in anything.” And he would turn away, back to Combeferre, back to his work and away from Grantaire. Grantaire stood and, courageous on the Musain's liquor, walked over to Enjolras. The other boy didn't turn around. Grantaire was doing his best not to cry, but then figured, _why bother? Everyone's seen me in worse shape than this._ So, tears pouring down his face, he turned Enjolras' shoulder. There was no resistance – he almost wished there was, to prove Enjolras even noticed. He looked the other boy straight in the eye and spat out, “I. Believe. In. You.” Hoping, but not daring to expect a response, Grantaire waited a fraction of a second, in which Enjolras stared blankly ahead, before storming out of the room. He flung doors open but couldn't dare swing them closed.

Once out on the rainy, muddy street, he ran. And he didn't stop running until his lungs were empty, and couldn't fill anymore.


	2. Cleaning Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire shows up at Courf's/Jehan's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short! More soon, I promise!

"Grantaire?"  
Courfeyrac looked at the muddy mess on his doorstep, alarm rising with each detail. His hair was coated in muck, so were his clothes. His jacket was dripping and ripped, and his black jeans had new holes in the knees. The heels of his hands were raw and bloody, he'd definitely fallen at least once. His eyes were swollen and he was crying, his lips were chapped and bleeding a little bit too. He looked like shit.

“Jesus Christ, get in here,” Courf said, leading Grantaire into the living room. “Jehan!” He yelled, “Get some cloths and pajamas please!”

“Why? Who's there?” Jehan came around the corner, wearing a dress shirt and floral sweatpants (who knew they even made those?)

When our sweet Jean Prouvaire saw Grantaire and the state he was in, something took over the poet's mind.  
“Courfeyrac,” his phrases became statements, but maintained the flowery aspect, “go get towels and new pajamas.”  
Courf, surprised by the change in Jehan's voice, ran to do what he was told.

Jehan ran over to 'Taire and wrapped his arms around his, letting mud and rainwater ruin his shirt. Grantaire collapsed in his arms and started sobbing. Jehan smoothed his hair and whispered, “it's okay, it's okay” over and over in his ear. Courf returned with the materials and threw a couple towels on the ground to sop up the mess.

“Uhm...” He said, holding the pajamas.  
“Put them on the coffee table. Courf, can you please hang out with Feuilly or something tonight?”  
“Uh, sure I'll head over to Combeferre's an-”  
“No, he'll be with Enjolras.”  
“Oh... Right. Okay, Feuilly's it is. Text me if you need anything.”  
“Thanks,” Jehan leaned up and kissed Courf.  
Courfeyrac ruffled Grantaire's curls and headed out the door.

Grantaire sat up and shrugged his way out of Jehan's arms. He rubbed his eyes and said, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ruin your night I ju-”  
“Don't even worry, Courf was getting on my nerves anyway. Now,” he laughed, “let's get you cleaned up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long! I'm writing the next chapter right now, so it should be up really soon! Let me know what you think :)


	3. Tea Time with the Resident Poet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan and Grantaire talk and cuddle a wee bit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gah I hope you enjoy it! (sorry it took so long, I wrote it over and over again, with like a billion different plot lines - it's so hard to decide!)

Grantaire relaxed into the bath Jean Prouvaire had drawn for him. There were bubbles, lots and lots of bubbles and he was actually enjoying it. The only light in the room came from candles Jehan had lit. It gave the room a flickering quality, like it was there one moment and gone the next. Grantaire closed his eyes and slipped his head under the water. He exhaled and felt the bubbles rise to the surface. After staying underwater for as long as he could, he popped back up, lungs aching.

Jean Prouvaire was sitting cross legged on the bath mat.

“Holy crap, Jehan! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“You've been in here a while, I wanted to make sure you were okay, and then it looked like you were drowning yourself, so I got a little worried.” Before Grantaire had a chance to respond, Jehan continued, “Now, time to get out of the bath, we have tea to enjoy.” With that, he pointed to a pile of pajamas sitting on the countertop and skipped out of the room, swinging the door shut behind him.

Grantaire wanted to feel exasperated, but couldn't quite manage it so he thrust himself upwards and out of the tub. He grabbed a towel and began to dry off. While he was rubbing his hair dry he noticed a sprig of lavender on top of his pajamas and smiled. After he dressed he slipped it behind his ear, and headed out to the living room.

The lights were dimmed, and Jehan had built a blanket nest in the middle of the room. He was sitting in the middle of it, holding a cup of tea, with another resting just outside the blankets. Grantaire reluctantly crawled into the middle with Jehan, and was quickly passed a mug.

“So,” Jehan started, after everyone was properly settled, “what the fuck happened to you tonight?”

Grantaire thought for a minute, _Good fucking question,_ before he answered, “I don't know.”

“Grantaire.”

“Prouvaire.”

“I can do this all night, I already sent my boyfriend away.”

“God, you're such a hardass sometimes. Fine. Enjolras was Enjolras and I freaked out. End of story.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much.”

Grantaire stared blankly at Jehan.

“You and Enjy always fight. That's not new, and neither is him ignoring you. _Your reaction_ is new. I've seen you drunk, and I've seen you mad, but I've never seen this, Grantaire. You've been in a fight. You've been crying. Why was tonight worse than normal?”

"I wasn't fighting."

"I've got a few bloody rags that say otherwise."

Grantaire was silent before admitting, "I fell."

Jean Prouvaire stifled a laugh, "You _fell?"_

"Stuff it. I was running and I was drunk and I fell."

"Well, I'm glad you weren't fighting. But you're avoiding my question. What made tonight worse?"

Grantaire looked down at his tea. “I don't -,” he started, “Okay, tonight sucked. But Enjolras didn't do anything different. I'm just... I'm just done, alright? I can't pine after Enjolras for the rest of my life. It's killing me, Jehan. Fuck. He believes in something, Jehan. But he's not right when he says that I don't.”

“You believe in him.”

“And that's never going to be enough. So what the fuck does a cynic do when his only light won't shine on him?”

Jehan scribbled that line onto his wrist with a fineliner that was sitting close by.

Tears dropped into Grantaire's now empty cup. Jean Prouvaire pulled the nest tight around them until Grantaire was encircled by blankets and arms. The poet whispered sonnets, free verse, and the occasional limerick into the mess of curls atop Grantaire's head. Taire's tears flowed freely, and Jehan gripped him even tighter. Jehan was made for these situations, finding the flow and rhythm to Grantaire's sobs, and altering his breathing pattern to rock with them. When the shaking in Grantaire's breath stopped, Prouvaire plucked the sprig of lavender from behind his ear and said, “Time for Netflix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking about doing the next chapter from Enjolras/Combeferre's POV, thoughts?  
> also, gah, I'm trying to decide if I want this to stay unrequited or not. And I have been thinking of ways to extend the storyline. Are you guys interested in a chapter focusing on Courf/Jehan?  
> Let me know what you think, there are so many ways the story could go at this point!


	4. A New Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Combeferre talk while sitting on yoga mats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took me so long, I couldn't make decisions and aaaahhhh  
> thanks so much to everyone for letting me know what their opinions are, sorry I didn't respond to everyone, I was too overwhelmed by your thoughtfulness!  
> (also I have to go do stuff so I didn't really edit this so I'm sorry for any mistakes!)

The two boys sat in the dark of Combeferre's meditation room. The room had large windows, which normally let in an abundance of light, but were currently covered in Combeferre's special blackout drapes. The boys sat on several yoga mats, having tried to make the room as comfortable as possible. They'd talked about lighting candles, but the only ones Combeferre had were scented, which made Enjolras' allergies flare up, so they'd decided against them.

They'd come to the room straight after the meeting, at Combeferre's suggestion, as Enjolras had seemed more uptight, or “tense” as Combeferre had said, than usual.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, as nonchalantly as he could.

“Fine.” The tension in Enjolras' voice was almost palpable.

“What happened back there?”

“I don't understand your meaning.”

“Let me rephrase. What caused you to act so cruelly to Grantaire today?”

“I don't recall being cruel.”

“You know as well as I do that indifference is more cruel than hatred.”

Enjolras smiled a little, but of course Combeferre couldn't see.

“We had a lot to accomplish and the cynic was in the way.”

“'The Cynic' is a person Enjolras. If you don't get off your high horse you're going to be no better than the government we aim to overthrow.”

Again, a smile.

“Fine, Combeferre. What do you want me to say?”

“The truth?”

Enjolras laughed bitterly, “The truth is subjective.”

“You sound like him.”

Enjolras had no reply.

“Okay,” Combeferre continued, “stop it. You stop, and I'll stop. We're not at a meeting and no one's listening but the two of us. Tell me how you feel.”

These were the best moments between the best friends. The moments when they broke down each other's pretentious shields, and just spoke as young men. They didn't have to worry about political fat cats, or saving the world. They could just be guys dealing with being guys, because that's important too.

If Combeferre had been anyone but Combeferre, Enjolras would have stood up and left, claiming he had, “more important things to deal with.” But Combeferre was who he was so Enjolras inhaled and began, “I don't know how to deal with him. I hate him. I want him to leave. He ruins our work and goes on rants tearing down our beliefs. I don't understand why he comes to our meetings if he's just going to moan. He drinks and smells too strongly of paint. His hair is messy and his eyes are too bright for a cynic. His clothes are stained and his pants are torn. I hate every detail about him, but I can't stop noticing them. And the more I think about them, the less I hate them, and that makes me hate myself.” 

There was a long silence, where Combeferre kept trying to talk, but failed. Eventually, Enjolras shifted slightly and the silence was broken with a sharp, _crack._

“Were those my...”

“Glasses, yes. I'll get you new ones tomorrow.”

“Whatever, Enjolras, but don't you think, and I'm no expert, but doesn't it sound like you like Grantaire?”

“I didn't want you to say that.”

“I know. That's why you broke my glasses.”

“That was a-”

“It doesn't matter, Jean Prouvaire was gonna make me get new ones anyway, he hated them.”

Enjolras laughed weakly.

“Anyway, you knew what I was going to say, and you're scared of it.”

“Yes?”

“So...”

“So?”

“Enjolras.”

“I don't know what you want from me.”

“E, I know you're frustrated with your feelings but you can't treat Grantaire like that. It's not his fault.”

“Not his fault he's a cynical, self deprecating, go-”

“Enjolras! You know what I mean. So, what are you going to do?”

“What? Nothing! Why would I do anything about it?”

“Uh, I don't know, because it's making you require use of my meditation room?”

“I'd be in here in a week anyway, when Finals stress kicks in, so -”

“That doesn't matter. I'm not telling you to _act_ on your feelings if you don't want to. I'm not Jean Prouvaire, I won't, and can't, make you do that. But you do have to start treating him better. He's a person, Enjolras, not just an object that confuses you.”

“Thanks Combeferre.”

“Your inflection was poor, so I can't tell if that was sarcasm or not.”

Enjolras hit him softly with a yoga mat and laughed, “both!”

The boys laughed and rolled around amongst the yoga mats for a while, before Enjolras piped up with a question. “Combeferre, can we watch Netflix?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you liked it, but aaah was this scary to write! Let me know your thoughts/opinions on everything, but especially the characterization of Enjolras and Combeferre! (like the plot is cool too, but I'm really concerned about characterization)  
> thanks so much for sticking with me, even though I am lame at posting regularly! (I promise I will try harder to get something up sooner!)


	5. The Night Is Young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire heads back to a meeting of Les Amis De L'ABC and Courfeyrac decides a night out is necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I haven't posted in ages, I'm trying so hard to get into a regular schedule. Next chapter will be up by the 1st of June! (I promised it in public, so I can't go back).  
> Also! I don't know if you saw, but I posted a side Courf/Jehan chapter a few weeks ago, which I really like, let me know what you think of it too!

“Grantaire, just go in.”  
At the next meeting of Les Amis De L'ABC Grantaire hesitated outside the door. Normally, he would have slunk in and taken his regular seat near the back of the cafe, pulled his sketchbook out of his bag and pretty quickly, his bottle.

“Prouvaire, I dunno...”  
“It'll only be harder to come back next week.”

Courfeyrac was coming up the stairs behind them, and Grantaire would rather not have anyone else see this. He closed his eyes and walked through the door. And right into a wall.

Of fabric?  
He looked up.  
A wall of Enjolras.

“Shit, sorry – I didn't – I mean – Fuck. Sorry.”  
Enjolras shook his head and said, “It's fine.”  
Enjolras didn't move and held Grantaire's gaze until Courfeyrac came bursting in yelling, “Let's get this party started!”

Once the meeting was underway, everything seemed normal; Grantaire was in the back, sketching rude pictures of politicians; Courf and Jehan sat in the same chair while Jehan wrote on Courfeyrac's arms; Feuilly and Bossuet were trying to flick papers into Marius' hair; Marius openly texted Cosette while Joly and Bahorel pretended the weren't texting; and Combeferre and Enjolras debated the material of the day, the pros and cons of attending the annual Slutwalk. Combeferre recommended they attend as viewers, because he didn't feel it was right for men to lead the fight for gender equality, when they were at the advantage. Enjolras agreed, of course, but thought it was important to participate as an ally. They all knew they'd end up going, especially because 'Ferre wasn't completely solid on his points, and were getting bored of the argument. They were finally saved when Courfeyrac, the centre of the group, decided he was fed up with the night. Sensing discontentment from all sides, he stood up, announced, “WE ARE GOING OUT,” and walked swiftly out of the room.

Jehan shrugged and followed quickly, joined by Marius, Bahorel, Bossuet, Feuilly and Joly. Combeferre and Enjolras looked at each other, while Grantaire's gathered up his art supplies. In a surprisingly unCombeferre gesture, Combeferre ran towards the door, ensuring that Grantaire and Enjolras would be left alone for at least a few seconds.

Which they were.  
Enjolras packed up his laptop and papers while Grantaire tried to hurry out.  
“Uh... Wait.” Enjolras said, on an impulse.  
Grantaire turned around, arms full of sketchbooks and raised his eyebrows.  
“I'm... Sorry? I was rude before. I mean – last time. Not now. I mean - I don't think I was rude now? No. Anyway. Sorry,” Enjolras spewed.  
Grantaire looked surprised and mumbled, “Uh, no. That's fine, I was being weird too. Don't worry about it.”  
Enjolras nodded and the two shared some uncomfortable eye contact before Courfeyrac's voice carried from the hallway, “HURRY UP BITCHES, THE NIGHT IS ONLY SO LONG!”  
Grantaire chuckled and gestured towards the door with his head. Enjolras walked over and pulled the door open, “After you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so stoked to write the party scene that's coming up next  
> I hope you all like it  
> Also, I'm attending Slutwalk on the 2nd, so maybe I'll write about Les Amis at Slutwalk  
> also, I can't promise any longer chapters, but I will try to write more frequently  
> (for some reason I only like writing short bits... Sorry!)


	6. SHOTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS  
> EVERYBODY!

“SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS! EVERYBODY!”  
“Courfeyrac. Calm your shit, no one is drunk yet,” Grantaire said.  
“Yeah, bitch,” Bahorel chimed in, “Grantaire'd know.”  
Grantaire shot Bahorel a look, but it went unnoticed.

The crew sat in the living room of Jean Prouvaire and Courfeyrac. They'd invited Cosette, Eponine and Musichetta, and the girls dispersed among the boys. Marius and Cosette were sharing the arm chair; Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta had the couch and Grantaire was lounging against the front of it. Courf and Jehan were suspiciously cuddling under a blanket; Combeferre was leaning against the coffee table which had been moved from the middle of the room as not to impede anyone's view of the circle; Eponine was leaning against it too, trying to keep her gaze from Marius and Cosette across from her. Enjolras was on his back staring up at the ceiling, relatively emotionless, in between the couch and the coffee table to its right. Bahorel and Feuilly had grabbed a few chairs from the kitchen and were set up behind the relaxed Enjolras.

Cosette and Marius were adorable with their tongues actively engaged in the other's mouth when Eponine made a small noise of frustration. Combeferre made eye contact with her and offered a gentle smile. Eponine smiled in return, but was distracted when she heard Cosette take a rapid breath. Marius had bitten her tongue, in a very unsexy way. Cosette was trying to shake it off when Combeferre, concerned about Eponine, announced that it was, “Time to start drinking.”

Courfeyrac was very excited by the news and sprang into the kitchen. He came back with a fireball whiskey, which he tossed to R; a 2.6 of vodka went to Bossuet, Joly and Musichetta; Marius and Cosette got a six pack of palm bay between them; Eponine and Combeferre were, surprisingly, given 8 ciders to split and Enjolras got a bottle of wine.

'Uh, no thanks Courf. I'm fine with water.”  
“No you're not, we're all getting wasted. And I gave you good stuff. Would you rather I stuck you with palm bay like those two?”  
“Hey!” Marius yelled, “Palm Bay is _delicious.”_  
Enjolras begrudgingly kept his bottle.  
“What about us?” Jehan asked.  
Courfeyrac showed him a bottle of tequila, some salt and a lime.  
“Yay!” Jehan cheered.

Everyone started drinking and giggling and chatting, even Enjolras opened his bottle and drank.  
Grantaire rolled up at one point to grab more booze from the kitchen. He called, “Courf... Jehan... Why do you have so much alcohol?”  
“We've been stealing money from you guys to stock up for a party!” Jehan giggled.  
Everyone looked at the two of them.  
“Hey! It's worth it guys! You're enjoying yourselves right?”  
Everyone shrugged and went back to their conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooooorrrrrrryyy it took so long I am a huge liar BUT I already wrote the next chapter, it's in editing right now  
> so verrrry soon  
> IN OTHER NEWS  
> I am seeing the North American Tour of Les Miserables tomorrow! So I am veeery excited!


	7. Spin that Bottle like a Tween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most cliche of cliche chapters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry

At some point, Courfeyrac noticed that Enjolras had finished his bottle and snatched it from him.  
“Someone get our fearless leader another bottle!”  
Musichetta was already in the kitchen grabbing more for her trio and yelled, “I've got it!”  
“Sorry bud, they're running low. You get peach Schnapps.”  
Enjolras nodded in response.  
Grantaire stared at him. How drunk could Enjolras be? He'd had a lot to drink, but he was acting fine. As far as Grantaire knew, Enjolras didn't regularly drink, which means he should be wasted by now.

While Grantaire marvelled at Enjolras' apparent sobriety, Combeferre was fascinated by Eponine. They sat a foot apart, and talked about everything. Eponine talked about her shitty job, her classes, and how excited she was to start working for less than minimum wage. Combeferre talked about his philosophy classes and how nervous he was to start his teacher training, but how worthwhile it'd be once he was a university professor. Combeferre started feeling butterflies in his stomach and noticed Eponine was blushing, but maybe that was the liquor. Eponine looked up and saw Combeferre staring at her, their eye contact lasted and he thought that she might be leaning in very slightly when Courfeyrac yelled, “SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN THA BOTTTAAAAAALLLLLEEEEE!”

The whole room sighed and felt themselves fall into the familiar cliche. They shuffled and scooted their way into a circle. After Jean Prouvaire convinced Courfeyrac that he could not, in fact, act as the bottle, the game began. Enjolras' discarded wine bottle was placed in the centre and immediately spun by Courfeyrac. It landed on Cosette and Marius let out a squeal. Cosette raised her eyebrows at him, and leaned across the circle, falling on Courf's lips. The kiss didn't last very long and soon Cosette was back in Marius' lap. The game continued, with giggles and shared drinks, but not much excitement until the bottle landed on Enjolras. He hadn't been paying much attention and when the room went silent he looked up. His eyes widened as if it hadn't occurred to him that he might have to kiss someone.  
“Who?” Enjolras asked.  
Jean Prouvaire raised a timid hand. No one in the room had ever seen Enjolras kiss anyone, except Combeferre who'd witnessed a messy kiss at a protest in high school, so when Enjolras leaned forward they couldn't help but stare. Jean Prouvaire quickly jumped towards the centre and had trouble closing his eyes when their lips met. Grantaire's jaw dropped when Enjolras opened his mouth, and Grantaire swears to god he saw some tongue slip in.  
They finally parted and Enjolras looked around the room and asked, “Do I spin now?”  
Everyone nodded, too shocked to speak. Enjolras reached forward and spun the bottle, hard. It went around, and around and around until it finally stopped. At Grantaire.  
R almost vomited at the cliche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still sorry


	8. Someone Like You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been so long, I love you guys, please don't hate me

Grantaire managed not to vomit, and stared at Enjolras.   
Are you really going to do this? He tried to communicate with his expression.  
Enjolras' eyes were wide, but he didn't seem to understand the question.  
  
They crawled up from their places in the circle and met in the middle, conscious of the intense staring coming from all sides. Enjolras closed his eyes as he leaned in, but Grantaire kept his open. When their lips met, it was like touching an exposed wire. Grantaire fought the urge to jump back, and closed his eyes, but Enjolras was already retreating. The kissed lasted less than three seconds. They boys were already back in their spots, and Enjolras' eyes were cast down. All of their friends were staring, and Grantaire couldn't help but feel disappointed. Enjolras' kiss with Prouvaire was way more intense than the one he shared with R.   
Grantaire quickly catalogued reasons for this in his mind.   
1) Enjolras found Grantaire disgusting   
2) Enjolras was secretly attracted to Jehan   
3) Enjolras simply didn't care about Grantaire, and couldn't be bothered to put effort into the dare.   
The third one hurt the most.   
  
The game continued without much interruption, but Grantaire wasn't really there. He went through the motions, and left when it was appropriate.   
  
He walked home, and it was, of course, raining. He didn't mind though. If he'd been in a better mood, he might have even gone puddle jumping. But he wasn't, so he kept to the sidewalk. When he reached his apartment, he opened the door without pulling out his key. He never locked it. It was freezing in his place. He had these giant windows, that he'd left open to get paint fumes out, and they were letting rain pour in, and right into his studio.   
“Fuck...” he whispered, as he rushed to shut the windows.   
Some of his art was soaked. Of course it was. What was unrepairable he tossed to the corner, except for one piece. It was done in charcoal, and it was of Enjolras. He wasn't giving a speech, or drinking his fair trade coffee, he was sitting, relaxed. Grantaire could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Enjolras this still, and thought of the pain that had gone into making this, the frustration of being unable to fully picture Enjolras this way, but it had come out all right in the end. Not anymore. There were white lines of rain running through the photo, and a giant smear of black right by Enjolras' face. It was ruined, but Grantaire couldn't bear to get rid of it, so he left it, still dripping, on his coffee table and turned his attention to mopping up the rainwater seeping into his hardwood.   
  
He sang while he cleaned,   
“I wandered, lost in yesterday.   
Wanting to fly,   
But scared to try.   
Then, someone like you   
Found someone like me.   
And suddenly, nothing is the same.   
My heart's taken wing,   
and I feel so alive.   
Because someone like you found me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song is "someone like you" from Jekyll and Hyde  
> more soon  
> maybe  
> hopefully


End file.
